The Great Tragedy Of Life Is Not

Painters Are Not In Any Way Unsociable Through Pride, But Either Because They Find Few Pursuits Equal To Painting, Or In Order Not To Corrupt Themselves With The Useless Conversation Of Idle People, And Debase The Intellect From The Lofty Imaginations In Which They Are Always Absorbed.

What One Has Most To Work And Struggle For In Painting Is To Do The Work With A Great Amount Of Labour And Sweat In Such A Way That It May Afterward Appear, However Much It Was Laboured Upon, To Have Been Done Almost Quickly And Almost Without Any Labour, And Very Easily, Although It Was Not.

For Those Who Feel It, Nothing Makes The Soul So Religious And Pure As The Endeavor To Create Something Perfect; For God Is Perfection, And Whoever Strives After It, Is Striving After Something Divine. True Painting Is Only The Image Of The Perfection Of God, A Shadow Of The Pencil With Which He Paints, A Melody, A Striving After Harmony.

A Man Paints With His Brains And Not With His Hands.

Sculpture Is Made By Taking Away, While Painting Is Made By Adding.